Our love was fragile,
Yet wild and challenging.
You are not a prince,
Or a knight,
You're a villain.
You came not to save me,
But you know how to tame my demons.
I may have a lot of monsters under my bed,
But baby–
Those are nothing compared to you,
For I know, you're the devil himself.
I don't know if this is love,
Or I am just romanticizing hate-
Torture, pain, and suffering,
To be just another fairytale.
Maybe I should just imagine myself as damsel in distress,
Wearing a white satin dress and my lips painted in red.
Maybe I should kiss you like a princess,
Waiting to be devoured by her prince and live happily ever after.
Yet I know that we're not in love,
We're not characters in a fairytale,
And maybe we've met–
But we're never meant to be together.
This is not a story–
This is merely a game,
A game of chess,
A game of fire.
And maybe now, I could say that I fell in love with the Black King,
Yet how can I reach him,
If I am on the other side of the board?
If this is truly a game,
Then it's really over–
For I know that he can't cross the line,
Just to be with a pawn.
YOU ARE READING
Always on the 13th Hour
PoesieThis is a collection of prose and poetry, and a bunch of thoughts that keeps me awake every night. This is all about what goes on every 13th hour... if that hour even exists.
